The katana that had been one of his primary weapons for centuries was tightly gripped in his hand. He had been asked a lot of questions on how a heavenly being like him ended up becoming an assassin for a gang. If the angel would humor them, he would just shrug his shoulders and say âThatâs just how life goes,â but most of the time, Jin ignored the stupid question. For him, he found balance in his life. Seojin took lives as an assassin but as a doctor and medic for Amaranthine, he also saved lives. Perfectly balanced.
The fallen angel was about to unsheath his weapon when he was stopped in his tracks. Right in front of him was a tall, pink haired man and right by that manâs feet was his supposed target. The target had a knife struck to his chest and the pink haired assassin kicked the corpse to make sure it was dead.
As Seojin drew closer to the scene, an odd pull resonated in his chest. For the first time in centuries, the wings that he had been hiding, itched to show itself. The angel couldnât quite put his finger onto what was happening. He doesnât know if he should leave the scene however, his feet kept on walking towards the other assassin.Â
Once he was close enough to see the face of the assassin, Seojinâs eyes widened in surprise. There is no fucking way that this was true. Centuries ago, in a time where Seojin was still known as Kal and he was the creatorâs favorite angel, he had a ward who had become his best friend in this lonely earth. He was naive and followed the creatorâs whims without any hesitation. The last time he had seen his face, Kal still dreamed of becoming an archangel like his brothers, Michael, Gabriel, and Raphael.Â
His favorite wardâs soul was back still with the same image and likeness that he had before. Yet, it was still different. Seojin was sure that he had sent him to heaven. He was even close to becoming a saint had it not been for his pesky lover. How come the creator had sent this wonderful soul back on earth when it clearly belonged in heaven?Â
Without even thinking if his former ward recognized him, the angel approached the assassin. âHey,â he muttered softly, âWhat are you doing here?â He must recognize him right? Kal recognized his ward, there must be some kind of connection there. Thatâs his favorite ward, the last being that Seojin opened up his heart to, enough to be called his best friend.
despite being paid to murder, kiha didnât believe he was a terrible person.Â
he peered down at the body at his feet, giving it another kick. missions for veritas varied, from simple kills that required little more than the same amount of effort it took to pick up a strawberry and cream sandwich from the nearest convenience store to kills that made him feel like an office worker with how much planning it took to accomplish. most of his targets probably wanted to be the latter, humans with their heads so far up their own ass about their own importance.Â
the body slumped on the floor. neither of his kicks invoked any movement or sound other than the thud and squish of the body moving. this mission was, without a doubt, took the least effort kiha had expended over anything in the past year. he was almost disappointed by how easy it was. knifing a human in an alley felt like the opening to a crime show. he took his phone out of his pocket, typing a quick text to jae about finishing up earlier than expected when a voice sounded from behind him.
pulling another knife from his person, he turned and grabbed the man who had spoken, pushing him against the wall. he pressed the knife against his neck, eyes narrowing as he looked at him. his face was unfamiliar. classically handsome, and looking no older than kiha himself.Â
despite the situation, something deeply settled in kihaâs gut told him not to hurt him. it was an unfamiliar feeling, a tug that pushed him to put the knife away. it was unpleasant to realize. why did he feel like he knew this stranger, like he shouldnât hurt him? he pushed the feeling down, glaring at the man. perhaps in the past, this soft, naive feeling would have grown and kiha would have stepped away. but in this line of work, there wasnât much to gain from trusting strangers or from indulging in these types of thoughts.
âwho are you? what do you want?âÂ
